The Meadow Literary and Art Journal 2011

“Hurry up with the shoes,” I said, my mood no longer so generous. “I am an important man (can’t you see it?). I am an important man, I have places to go.” The boy looked at me. He grew serious, he grew quiet. Was he hurt as well? Important man—ha. Was I really such an important man? Places to go—what places were they? Sometimes I walked the streets. Sometimes I walked the alleys. Were these the important places to which I had to go? The boy polished my shoes. Vigorously he brushed them—back and forth, back and forth. “Finished, sir.” He was quiet, he was formal. The charm of the moment—charm, what charm?—had been broken. I tried to be nice to the boy. He was silent. I tried to make a joke. He was silent. I tried to give him a tip. But actions, real actions, speak louder than words. And had not my actions spoken for themselves? The boy took the money—the fee for the shoe polish, not a penny more. He bowed silently. He collected his things—with such purpose he collected them. He rose, he left. I had come to the park—come with dirty shoes. My shoes were no longer dirty. But my soul, what of that? My soul, what of that? Some time passed. I thought of the boy—I felt low. I thought of the office—the praise, the flattering words—how silly it all seemed now, how pointless. I went to the park looking for the boy. There was no sign. I walked the streets, the alleys. No sign. Such a small boy he was—seven years old, perhaps eight. He wore those small shorts, brown, a small shirt that hung over the shorts. The shirt, originally white, was now covered with polish marks. He worked hard, he worked hard. He was a good boy—how could he not be? Days passed, weeks. Weeks passed, months. I had forgotten the boy (or had I?); I had moved on to other things. One day I saw the boy—I saw him again. There was a long and narrow alley. There were open drains on both sides. Children played in the alley. They were poor children. Some of them wore clothes, some of them were half-naked, their genitals exposed. All of them were covered with dust. theMeadow 45

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